


Happy Families

by asocialconstruct



Series: Appearances [6]
Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Families of Choice, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asocialconstruct/pseuds/asocialconstruct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Appearances followup; Cain and Abel try to adopt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January-August

Cain smoked in the door of the kitchen, watching as Ethan stirred dinner.  Not worth the fight anymore when Cain only stayed the weekends, Ethan had gotten used to the smell at Cain’s apartment anyway.

“Can you set the table?” Ethan asked over his shoulder.  Cain flicked his cigarette ash into the trash, stubbing it out in the sink before throwing the butt away.  He brushed a hand across the back of Ethan’s neck and took down plates from the cupboard.

Ethan covered the pan on the stove a minute later and went out to finish his wine while it cooked down.  Cain stood at the table, frowning down at the Veterans’ Administration paperwork Ethan had left on the table.

“The fuck is this?” Cain asked.  Ethan leaned over him, brushing Cain’s hair away from his ear to brush his lips against it.  Cain scowled at him sideways.

“I saw the brochure in the waiting room at the VA, I just wanted to look at it on the train home,” Ethan said, sliding into the other chair.  Cain flipped it open, his scowl darkening.

“You just wanted to look,” Cain said, still not looking at him.  “It’s not like picking up a puppy at the goddamn pound.”

Ethan reached across the table to where Cain’s left hand curled and uncurled, his fist clenching.  “I just thought, since, you know,” he fumbled, brushing Cain’s ring, “that it might be a good time to start thinking about it, since adoption takes so long.”

“You want a baby,” Cain snapped.

Ethan pulled his hand back, scalded by Cain’s glare.  “I—I don’t know, I just thought we could talk about it—“

“Just forget about it, Abel, it’s not going to happen,” Cain said, crushing the brochure in a ball.  Ethan followed him into the kitchen, watching, not able to say anything, his throat tight.  He just stood in the doorway and watched as Cain threw it in the trash and swept out.

Ethan fished it out, brushing coffee grounds off it as he tried to unfold it.  He sank down to sit on the floor, pressing the crumpled paper flat between his hands and the tile, frowning down at the picture of the smiling mother and father stained with Cain’s cigarette ash.

“Abel, goddamit, quit sulking and get dinner on the table,” Cain yelled from other room.  Ethan put the crumpled brochure in his pocket as he pushed himself up from the floor.  He took the pasta off the stove and ladled out the sauce even though it wasn’t done cooking down, avoiding Cain’s looks as they ate dinner in silence.

* * *

Ethan tried again a month later, got another set of brochures from the VA and left them on the little bedside table at Cain’s apartment as he was leaving for work Monday morning.

Cain caught him by the jacket as he was on the way out the door, shoving the brochures into Ethan’s hands.  

“They’re never going to give you a baby, Abel, I’ve got fucking felony convictions.  Thought your dad sent you my fucking arrest record.”

“I never read it,” Ethan said quietly, shying away from Cain’s scowl.

Cain looked him up and down, searching for something.  “Maybe you should have before you got your hopes up, princess.”  He pushed away from the wall, leaving Ethan there hugging an arm to himself with the brochures crumpled in his hand again.

“The social worker I talked to said it wouldn’t matter as long as it wasn’t a child abuse conviction,” Ethan said finally.  He’d be late, but he was going to be late anyway, and if this was the only thing keeping Cain from even looking, they might as well talk about it.

“You fucking talked to a social worker?” Cain snarled, rounding back on him.  “ _Abel_.  Just drop it.  You’re a fag, they’re not going to give you a baby.”

Ethan stood there shaking, worse than if Cain had just slapped him.  “Why do you have to call me that?” he said quietly.  After everything, Cain had to throw that at him.

“Because the sooner you drop this stupid little fantasy that the world is fair, the less miserable you’ll make yourself,” Cain said.  “People like us don’t get to have happy families.”

“Then why do we bother with this at all?” Ethan asked, taking off his ring.    He held it out between them, Cain staring at it, the dull light from the hallway making it look dead and flat.

“Fuck,” Cain said finally, coming to grab the ring out of Ethan’s hand.  He started to pull away, to call in to work that he wouldn’t be coming in and to call his father to tell him he’d always been right, but Cain caught him and pulled Ethan against his chest, burying his face in Ethan’s hair as they stood there in the open door.  “Fuck, I’m sorry, Abel, I’m a fucking idiot, I’m so fucking sick of this place and everyone giving a damn how we fuck.  Just—fuck, take the ring back, we can try if you want it so bad.”

Ethan stood there and let Cain slip the ring back on his finger, neither of them meeting the other’s eyes.  “You mean it?” Ethan asked, his hand in Cain’s.

“We’ll talk about it when you get home from work.  Just—fuck, Abel, promise you won’t get your hopes up too much if it doesn’t work out.”  Ethan didn’t say anything to that, just let Cain kiss him quick, and left to catch his train. 

* * *

The first adoption agency turned him down over the phone.  The second set up an appointment, but told them to leave when they showed up together and the receptionist realized Sacha wasn’t a woman’s name.

They didn’t talk about it, Ethan just made more phone calls and tried not to be too grateful that Cain didn’t throw it back at him that he’d been right all along.

It was fine until he made the mistake of mentioning it at dinner with his parents, and thank goodness Cain had work that night.

“It’s for the best, Ethan, children need two parents,” his father said as the cook cleared away the dishes.  

Ethan glanced at his mother’s deepening frown.  “They’ll have two parents, we both—“ he started.

“You know what I mean.  Don’t be childish,” his father snapped, cutting him off.  Ethan stared, finally understanding what he meant and shocked that his father could still say that to his face.

“What do you mean, dad?” he demanded, saying it slow to keep his temper under control.  “There’s two of us, so what do you mean?” 

His father ground his jaw, looking him up and down, and Ethan was more relieved than he should have been that Cain wasn’t there for this.  “Children need a mother _and_ a father, Ethan.  You can pretend at whatever you want with your— _roommate_ —but you can’t raise a child that way.  You can’t really be selfish enough to want a child be tormented at school for your sake, I’d thought you were bullied enough in school to understand that.”

Ethan managed not to knock over his wine glass as he stood.  His father said something as he grabbed his coat and his keys on his way out, but he didn’t bother trying to listen.

His mother pushed her chair back, scraping harshly on the tile floor as she hurried after him.  His father didn’t even bother.

She followed him down the stairs, running in her little heels to keep up with him.  “Darling, you know how it is with donors—“

“Then maybe he should stop taking money from bigots,” Ethan said, not stopping as she followed him down to the garage.

“Ethan, you know that’s not how it works,” his mother said, keeping up.  “He has a lot of things to consider.”

“Why are you defending him?  He was at the wedding, wasn’t it bad enough that wouldn’t walk down with me, and now he has to do this?” Ethan said, his hands shaking as he got his keys.  They’d had this fight, had this fight over and over like anything would ever change, and he was stupid enough to hope his father would ever stop throwing it back in his face.

His mother caught him by the elbow, her hands soft, and he still couldn’t make himself look at her for fear of seeing what both his parents thought of him.

“It’s a hard thing for parents, sweetie.  He’s just working through things, your father was never very good at being disappointed.  He always wanted grandchildren, he’ll come around.  It’s just different this way.”

“Is that what you think?” Ethan asked, close to tears, trying to pull away from her.

“No, sweetie,” she said softly.  “It’s only different because everyone is making it so difficult for you.  It’ll be our grandbaby no matter what.”  He let his mother pull him close then, ashamed of how badly he needed to be held like this.  

* * *

He managed to not cry about it until he got to Cain’s place and safely up the stairs.  He shouldn’t have bothered on a weeknight, when he had to work in the morning and Cain had to do curfew check, but no one else would have understood.  Not Katrina six months pregnant and not Miranda with her wedding planning, and who else did he have but Cain.

Ethan barely made it past the door and Cain knew just looking at him.  “What’d your father say this time?”

Ethan fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket.  “What do you think?”

Cain glared and pushed past him to the open door.  “Fuck, Abel, just find a chick to marry if you need a baby that bad, it’s not like Iowa meant anything anyway,” Cain said, kicking the door closed.  “Fuck.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ethan said.

“No,” Cain said, leaning back against the closed door.  “Just—fuck, Abel, I’m just so fucking sorry, I’d change it all if I could, but you’re just gonna throw yourself against the fucking wall until it comes down on you.” 

Ethan went to lean against him.  “There’s one more agency to call.”

“You’ll forget about it if they won’t see us?” Cain asked, pulling Ethan into him.

“Yes,” Ethan lied.

* * *

They managed to get an appointment, but it made Ethan wish the agency had never taken his call to begin with.

“The fuck do you mean only one of us can adopt?” Cain snarled, barely staying in his chair.

The social worker frowned across her desk at him, making a note of something in their file.  _Inappropriate candidates.  Unsuitable parents.  Gay._

“I’m sympathetic, I am, but that’s the law,” she said again.  “You can’t both take custody.  Only one of you can sign the papers, or it won’t be legal.  I don’t have to report it since you don’t live together, but if there are two male names on the paperwork I’ll have to reject the application.”

Ethan glanced at Cain, who glared at the social worker, Cain’s knuckles going white as he clenched fists against his knees.  

“I’ll sign, then,” Ethan said finally.  More likely for the application to go through that way, and then Cain could leave them both whenever he wanted.  Easier for everyone that way.  Ethan reached for the paperwork.

“It needs to be a colonial parent,” the social worker said, watching Ethan and not Cain.  “The only children in the system right now are foreign born, and the Colonial Child Welfare Act will only allow us to place them with a colonial parent.”

Cain stared at her, and Ethan’s heart sank.  “We need to talk about it,” Ethan managed, anything to get them out of there before Cain could say something awful.  Where Ethan could just try to sleep and forget that he’d ever hoped this could be real.  Where he could just try to forget how humiliating this was.

“I’ll sign it,” Cain said.  “We already talked about it.  I’ll sign it.”

Ethan watched silently and didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until the social worker took back the signed paperwork.  She tucked it into their file and gave Cain a tired smile.  “When can we schedule the homestudy?” she asked. 

* * *

The homestudy came and went, and then nothing.  No calls, no checks, nothing, for months.  Ethan watched Cain’s profile at night sometimes and thought he should have been grateful Cain signed the paperwork, but just being rejected by the last agency would have been easier.  No false hope thinking they could ever have been a normal family.

He got the call at work, and almost dropped the phone when Cain said it.  _They think they found one._ Ethan took the afternoon off, going to Cain’s apartment to pace the rest of the day until the social worker called back to schedule the first visitation.

The visiting room at the agency was a sketch of a living room, two old couches and old childrens’ toys in a box covered with crayon scrawls, carpet clean but thread bare.  Cain sat on one of the couches bouncing his knee, watching Ethan pace until the social worker opened the door.

The little boy stood in the door, fingers in his mouth and holding the social worker’s hand, all dark messy hair and big eyes.  Misha, his file said.  Seven, maybe.  

Ethan stood on the other side of the room, hands in his pockets, watching as Cain awkwardly crouched in front of Misha and held out a hand.  Cain did his best to look non-threatening, which made him scowl anyway.

“You can say hello, Misha,” the social worker said, giving his hand a little squeeze.  Misha glanced up at her, but dropped her hand and took a tentative step towards Cain, stopping just out of reach.

“ _Privet_ ,” Misha said quietly, still sucking his fingers, watching Cain warily.

Cain said something back, too quiet and fast for Ethan to catch, making Misha smile shyly.  Cain held out his hand again and Misha went the rest of the way to him, giving Cain a little hug that made Ethan’s heart hurt.  They said something to each other, fast and quiet and foreign, just the two of them with Ethan farther from Cain than he’d ever been.

“He doesn’t speak English,” Cain said finally, glancing up at the social worker.

She shrugged.  “Not yet.  He understands a little.”

Cain glanced back at Ethan finally and held out a hand.  Ethan crossed the room to them slowly, off balance when Cain grabbed his hand and pulled Ethan down to sit on the floor next to him.


	2. September-October

The paperwork was the worst part.  Or fighting over what paperwork to fill out.

“He’s not going to a fucking private school,” Cain said for the third time, throwing the application across the table, sheets of paper fluttering to the floor.  “He’s going to school with the rest of the colonial brats where he belongs.  Not like you want to deal with all the looks you’d get at a private school anyway.”

Ethan frowned at him.  “What do you mean, why would anyone—“ 

“The fuck do you think it’d look like, Abel, you go in there with a kid that doesn’t speak English and doesn’t look like you, they’re going to think you kidnapped him and you’re a fucking pedophile.”  Ethan stared at him, had never even thought about that.  Cain waved his hand, not talking about it, never talking about it, just throwing out hurtful things and leaving Ethan to deal with it.  “Better for everybody if he goes to school where he can talk to the kids anyway.”

With the boys at the halfway house where Cain worked, all of them barely one step out of juvenile detention and always looking Ethan over for where he kept his watch and his car keys.  “He can’t go to school with them, they’re crim—“

Cain slammed his hand on the table.  “Fuck, Abel, I’m there all day, it’s not like they’re gonna show him how to hotwire a car.  You don’t want him around bad influences, you should never have let him around me in the first place.”  He pushed himself standing, slow and deliberate, Ethan watching him warily.  Cain came around to stand over Ethan, leaning down to bite his ear.  “Didn't mean to yell.  Besides, I’ll teach him how to steal cars myself when he’s old enough,” he said against Ethan’s neck.

“You’re terrible,” Ethan said, blushing.  He couldn’t help smiling, not with Cain apologizing with warm kisses down the side of his neck and fingers threaded through his hair.

“I know,” Cain said, reaching down to fumble Ethan’s fly open.  “Just give it a year so he can learn some English and then we’ll talk about sending him to your little rich bitch fancy school, ok?  Just give him some time first,” he said, tugging Ethan out of the chair and pushing him down over the arm of the sofa.  

When they picked the last of the thrown clothes off the floor, Ethan let Cain start filling out the paperwork to enroll Misha in the colonial school where he worked.  Cain knew best, it would be better for Misha and all of them.

If they had to fight over paperwork, at least there was make-up sex.  The paperwork wasn’t the worst part.

* * *

His parents were the worst part.

Ethan bounced his knee, barely able to wait for it to be next week, when they’d finally take Misha home.  He leaned over the photos on the tablet with his mother, going through the pictures from their last visitation the day before.  Cain holding Misha, Cain sitting with Misha, Cain walking with Misha at the playground.  “What a _darling,_ ” his mother said, tracing the line of Misha’s cheek on the screen, “just look at his pretty hair.  What a little doll.”  Ethan bit his lip, never sure anymore how much she really meant.

His father came to stand behind his mother’s chair, face closed, looking down his nose at the photos.  “He’s colonial.”  That was all.  Nothing ever good enough, no part of Ethan’s life would ever measure up.

“He’s your grandson.”

“We could have helped you pay for a surrogate,” his father said.  “Then he wouldn’t have to be related to your— _roommate_.”

“You _know_ that’s not what we are, why do you have to keep—“  

“No problems when you finally decide to kick your roommate out,” his father said over him.  “You could still hire a surrogate, it’s not too late, Ethan.  I don’t care what you signed with the adoption agency, we can still get you out of it and get you a normal family if you want a baby so badly.”

“This is the family I want,” Ethan said slowly, to keep his father from accusing him of histrionics or melodrama.  Of being a fairy and a queer.

“Well, you could have told us he was colonial earlier and kept us from wasting money on Christmas," his father said.  "It’s not like those people know the difference, he'll probably just be happy with a slice of buttered bread."

Ethan stood up and started to get his things.  “I can’t believe you still say things like that.  Call if you have anything decent to say, I’m going home.”  He gave his mother a peck on the cheek, listening to her scolding his father as he left and exhausted beyond caring.

* * *

His parents he could avoid, his parents weren’t the worst part.  Watching Cain with Misha when they finally brought him home was the worst part.

Misha clung to Cain, trailed him around the house and watching him with big eyes and shy smiles, chatting away quietly when Cain would sit and draw with him at the dinner table.  Cain tucked him in at night, and helped him get ready for school, and kissed his messy hair every time Misha got close enough.  Misha stood on the little step stool in the bathroom with Cain every morning, fascinated with watching him shave until Cain got him popsicle sticks and his own canister of shaving cream and showed him how to shave.

Cain was everything Ethan could have hoped for him to be, doting and attentive and proud, giving Ethan lopsided smiles every time Misha curled against him on the sofa, both of them falling asleep after dinner.

Ethan smiled back, every time, and tried to keep the hurt off his face when Misha scooted away from him on the couch to be closer to Cain, or went quiet anytime Ethan entered a room, or only let himself be hugged when Cain was right there.  Ignored it when Misha wouldn't look at him, or shied away from him, or shivered when Ethan touched him.

“It’s part of the adjustment phase,” the social worker said.  “Children have attachment issues sometimes, especially with abandonment cases, it’s normal for them to cling to one parent and be shy with the other.  Just give him some time.”

Ethan sat in her office, head in his hands, a month later and feeling like a failure.  Cain made it look so easy, as easy as Ethan had always wanted it to be, as easy as things had never been with his father.


	3. November

He would manage, he would always be able to manage so long as he had Cain there to make them a family.

He came home to find Cain and Misha sitting in the middle of the floor, Misha laying on his belly with Cain painting his little fingernails a sparkly green.

Ethan stopped in the doorway, frozen.  “What are you doing?  You can’t paint his nails.”

Cain glared up at him from the floor, his own toenails bright blue.  “Why the fuck not?  He picked it out at the grocery store, green’s his favorite color.”  Misha gave him a shy smile, looking up at Ethan through his big looping dark curls.

Ethan’s chest tightened, anxious with what his father would say about this but desperate to know anything about Misha.  Ethan didn’t know anything about him, only what it said in his file, only what Cain told him, only that Misha didn’t want to be near him.  _Abandoned.  Neglected.  Scared_.

But now Ethan had something else to hold on to, even if it was only Misha’s favorite color.  “It is?” he managed.

“Yeah,” Cain laughed, holding out a hand.  “C’mere, I told him he could do your nails too when you got home.”

Misha smiled shyly as Ethan eased himself down next to Cain.  Ethan could have cried when Misha bounced up just as he was sitting, though, going to whisper in Cain’s ear, putting Cain between them.

But Misha climbed in Cain’s lap then, waiting while Cain fished a bottle of purple glitter nail polish from his coat thrown on the floor next to them.  Misha settled, holding Ethan’s hand on his knee and making a little concentrating face as he uncapped the nail polish.  Ethan tried to blink back tears, trying to smile at Cain over Misha’s head instead.  Tried not to let Cain see it later, when he couldn’t blink back tears fast enough when Misha wouldn’t let himself be hugged.

* * *

He would manage, so long as he had Cain to make them a family.

“We have plans for Thanksgiving,” his father said when he called to ask what to bring.

Not _would Misha like to come_.  Not _when can you come_.

 _We have plans_.

His mother had only met Misha once, and his father never, and they had plans.  Ethan hung up the phone and swore he wouldn’t call back, wouldn’t put himself through that again if his parents were so determined to not have a colonial grandchild.  

He would manage so long as Cain was there to make them a family, since Cain and Misha were the only family that wanted him anyway.   

So they had Thanksgiving dinner at his friend Katrina’s parents’ place, with Cain and Misha standing glaringly out of place as the only two dark heads in the room, making everyone uncomfortable as Katrina passed ultrasound pictures around and her sister’s children avoided Misha.  They went home early and called Cain’s sister, Misha talking to her for longer on the phone than he’d ever talked to Ethan.

* * *

Ethan could have torn his hair out or screamed at Cain for his pitying looks and patronizing attempts to make it better.  Instead he crossed his arms over his chest and put his foot down when Cain said he had to be gone working for a weekend.

“Look, I’m gonna be on duty twenty-four seven, so call Deimos and tell him to come translate.  Misha knows him already,” Cain said, and Ethan wanted and didn’t want to know how Misha knew Deimos already, had never heard of it before, didn’t want to think about what else it meant Cain had been keeping from him.  

Cain shoved a slip of paper at him with a number scribbled down on it.  Ethan didn’t need the paper, recognized it from all the times he’d checked Cain’s phone.  He had that number memorized, even though Cain had put Deimos in his phone under a different name, to hide it from Ethan.  To hide it from him every time he broke his vows and his promise to not sleep with anyone else.  

Ethan frowned down at it.  “I don’t need him here.”

“Fuck, Abel, I’m just trying to make it easier for you.  What do you think you’re going to do with a scared kid you don’t understand and who doesn’t understand you?”

“I’ll manage,” Ethan said stiffly.  “He’s my son too.”

Ethan could have punched Cain for the pitying look he gave him.  “He is, but he doesn’t know it yet,” Cain said, too gentle.  “Look, just call Deimos and have him come over for dinner one night, he already offered.”

“No.  We’ll be fine.”

Cain balled his fists on the table, might have banged the table or yelled if Misha wasn’t sitting on the floor across the room with his crayons.  “Fuck, Abel, don’t be so fucking stubborn about it, I already called him about it anyway.  Just make nice and take some fucking help for once.”

Ethan shook his head, refusing to look at the scrap of paper now.  “I don’t need Deimos’ help.  Call him back and tell him to not come.”

“No.”  They stared at each other, Ethan crossing his arms over his chest even though he knew he’d already lost.  Cain had his jaw set and thought he was doing right for everybody, sure he’d always known what was best for everyone.

* * *

Dinner was unbearably awkward, Deimos and Misha talking quietly in Russian and Deimos trying to make small talk.  Ethan ground his teeth, on edge at every soft word out of Deimos’ mouth, pushing around his dinner wondering again how Cain had looked when Deimos fucked him, wondering if Cain regretted Iowa and showing up on his doorstep instead of Deimos’.  Wondered if Cain would even spend these nights away for work if he went home to Deimos every night instead of Ethan, to someone who just did what he was told and didn’t ask Cain where he’d been and who he’d been with.

Misha tugged Deimos away from the table before they’d finished eating, leaving Ethan to clear the table by himself.  Deimos gave him an apologetic smile that Ethan ignored, watching as Misha spread his books across the coffee table.

Deimos untangled himself from Misha, going to pull a small book out of his jacket, watching Ethan out of the corner of his eye as he brought it back to the couch.  Misha bounced, oblivious to Ethan and Deimos watching each other warily, Ethan trying to bite back his jealousy of Deimos so easily finding his way into Ethan’s life and Ethan’s family, Deimos so easily taking everything Ethan had worked and cried for.

Misha curled next to Deimos on the couch, half in his lap and leaning over to see the book.  It was washed out colors, tattered and ripped in places, printed in Russian.  Ethan glared, trying to keep his jealousy to himself at how easily Deimos had gotten Misha’s trust, trust Ethan didn’t get after weeks and months.

Ethan watched them together, Deimos combing his fingers through Misha’s hair as he read quietly, looking like they belonged together.

He shook himself out of it, trying to concentrate as he cleared the dishes and washed up in the kitchen.  All he had to do was wait for Deimos to leave, almost Misha’s bed time, one more day and Cain would be home.  He’d manage in the mean time.

Ethan stopped with his hand on the faucet as he turned off the water, catching hushed Russian and Misha’s little voice in the living room, crying quietly.  He dried his hands, going out to see what the problem was, to tell Deimos to leave if he was upsetting Misha.  Stopped in the doorway instead when Misha cut himself off as Ethan came from the kitchen, Deimos rocking Misha against him and neither of them looking at him.

“What was he saying?” Ethan demanded.

Deimos wouldn’t look him in the eye, shaking his head.  Just smoothed Misha’s hair down.  “Nothing, he just said he’s tired.”

“You’re a liar.  Tell me what he said.”

Deimos looked him up and down, glancing back down at Misha.  He stood, leaving Misha curled into the corner of the sofa with his tattered book.  Deimos came and took Ethan by the elbow, leading him down the hallway out of Misha’s hearing.  His fingers were warm through Ethan’s sleeve, and for as delicate as he looked Ethan had a hot shiver of fear wondering how hard it would be for Deimos to just break his arm if he wanted to.

Deimos stared him down in the hallway, face blank, delicate and beautiful, and Ethan didn’t want to wonder if Cain fucked them both because he saw them as mirrored images of each other, didn’t want to see his own dark eyes reflected in Deimos’ gray eyes. “I don’t think you want to know what he said,” Deimos said, just above a whisper.  “He’s tired and upset, he just needs to go to bed.”

“Tell me what he said,” Ethan demanded, shaking.  Deimos had always been between him and Cain, and now he was trying to come between Ethan and Misha.

Deimos watched him, his face blank, judging.  He looked Ethan up and down for too long.  “He says the man that hit his mother was blond and he wants to know when his daddy is coming back.  He’s afraid of you.”

“Get out.”

“Abel, I don’t think—“

“ _Get out of my fucking house_ ,” Ethan snapped, turning on his heel.  He went to stand by the front door, glaring as Deimos got his coat and went to say goodbye to Misha, who sucked his fingers and stared at them both with big eyes.  Deimos bent to put a hand on his cheek and press a kiss to his hair, murmuring something.  Misha caught him with an arm around the neck as he was straightening, Deimos whispering and petting his hair as he disentangled himself.  Ethan could have slapped him.  

He stopped Deimos at the open door, shaking.  “Stay the hell away from my family.  If you ever sleep with Cain again—“

“You knew?” Deimos asked, and Ethan could have shaken Cain for the shock in Deimos’ voice, could have screamed at Cain for torturing them both with this.  “How long have you known?”

“How long have you been a whore?”

Ethan barely kept himself from slapping Deimos then, for the pity in his voice, for his little shrug.  “I’m sorry.  You know what Cain’s like.  Call me if you need help with Misha,” Deimos said as Ethan closed the door in his face.

Misha curled tighter into the corner of the sofa, not looking at Ethan and tears streaming down his face.  Ethan sat heavily on the floor next to the couch, head in his hands, wishing Cain would come home.  He and Misha fell asleep like that, curled away from each other, because Ethan couldn’t make himself face Misha cringing away from him, because he couldn’t manage without Cain there.


	4. December

Misha was quiet in the morning, watching Ethan make breakfast warily, but he let himself be held afterwards on the couch.  As long as Ethan was quiet and slow and put his arm around Misha, stroking his shoulder.  Deimos had been wrong, or didn’t understand, or had been only trying to upset Ethan.  Lying, trying to get between Ethan and Cain like he always had.  Misha had only been tired, upset over something Deimos had told him.  Ethan held him closer, brushing Misha’s hair down as he read the news.

“Abel?”  Misha said, shocking Ethan out of reading about his father’s press releases.  “Where’s daddy?”

Ethan’s chest tightened, the first thing Misha had ever said to him asking for Cain instead.  Misha looked at him with big eyes, sucking his lip and looking anxious.  Ethan took a slow breath and brushed Misha’s hair out of his face.  “I’m daddy,” he said quietly, pointing at his chest.  “Your other daddy’ll be home tomorrow.”  Ethan would probably be able to keep himself from screaming at Cain long enough to get out of Misha’s hearing.  

Misha shook his head and slid out of Ethan’s arms, getting the little book Deimos had brought off the coffee table and bringing it back to put on Ethan’s knees.  He flipped through the tattered pages to the back, where someone had tucked in old photos, and he spread them out with stubby fingers, looking for something.

Ethan watched him, biting his lip to keep from screaming at Deimos.  Chewed his lip raw looking at what Deimos had given Misha, wished he’d taken it away the night before, so Deimos couldn’t have upset Misha with it.

Photos of Cain and Deimos at the end of basic training, young and both of them beautiful, Cain’s arm hooked over Deimos’ shoulders and both of them trying not to smile.  Another of the two of them around fourteen or fifteen, in clothes too big for them and both with black eyes, trying to look serious and dangerous.  A photo of them around five or six, sleeping under a tattered blanket, closer than Ethan would ever be to Cain or Misha.  

And then a small wallet photo of Ethan and Cain in Iowa, one of the few they’d posed for before his father made a scene, early in the day when had seemed like everything would go right.  Before reality had set in, when he thought that he and Cain could have a happily ever after.  Misha pushed the book and the rest of the photos away, climbing into Ethan’s lap with the wedding photo.

He pointed at Cain in the photo.  “Daddy.  And Abel,” he said, pointing at Ethan in the photo.  “Where’s daddy?”

Ethan took a deep breath, gathering the photos up and closing the book.  “Daddy’s at work,” he said slowly, and took the book and the photos and threw them in the trash.  He shoved the book in so he wouldn’t have to look at the note on the back, wouldn’t have to think about what he was doing.

_Для Саши и Алекса. Любовь, бабушка._

He didn’t have to be able to read it to recognize Cain’s name, or below it, in Deimos’ neat, tiny writing, _for Misha_.

* * *

Ethan tried not to think about any of it once Cain was back the next day, just lied and told him dinner with Deimos had been fine and let him complain about work so Ethan wouldn’t have to guiltily avoid telling him about any of the rest.  Cain lied to him from the first to the last, about everything, and at least Ethan’s lie didn’t hurt anybody.

Misha clung to Cain all night, not letting Cain out of his sight as soon as he came in the door, refusing to let Ethan put him to bed.  Cain just laughed at Ethan’s sour look and left him sitting at the table.  

“Abel, you seen Misha’s book? He wants a story and I can’t find it in his room,” Cain called, coming down the hallway, padding barefooted in his undershirt and pajama bottoms to where Ethan sat at the dining table.

“He’s got plenty of books, they’re all in there,” Ethan said, even though he knew exactly which book Cain meant.  Deimos must have told him, had probably already told him how upset Ethan had been, so they could both laugh over it together.

_You don’t get to whine about it, princess.  You don’t tell me who I can have a beer with._

_Just because we fucked doesn’t mean we’re in love._  

Ethan tried to keep his breathing even, watching Cain look for the book.  “I know, I tried reading him one of the other ones, but he wants the one Deimos brought over.  You seen it anywhere?” Cain asked, kneeling to check under the couch.

Cain would find out sooner or later, since Deimos had already told him.  Ethan wet his lips, bracing for the fight.  “It’s gone.  I got rid of it,” he said finally, looking at the table, avoiding Cain’s eyes on him.

Cain was on him before he’d finished, hauling Ethan out of his chair by the wrist.  “ _The fuck do you mean you got rid of it?_ ” Cain snarled in his face, his hand too tight, and Ethan tried not to shy away from him, Cain looming over him.

Ethan swallowed.  “He has to learn English,” he said, even though they both already knew that wasn’t the real reason.  “He’ll never learn if you keep coddling him in that school and he doesn’t talk to anyone but you and Deimos.  It’s for his own good.”

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” Cain demanded, shaking him.  “That was the only fucking thing in this goddamn house he could read by himself and you got rid of it _for his own fucking good_?  Do you have any fucking _clue_ what it’s like to have someone take something away from you at that age, or did mommy and daddy just give you everything you ever fucking asked for?  You stupid, _spoiled_ little brat,” Cain spat at him, pushing Ethan away.  Ethan stumbled against the edge of the table, bruising his hip and catching himself on the chair, barely managing to keep himself up.

Cain stalked away from him, practically slamming Misha’s door between them, and Ethan went to shut himself in his office where Cain wouldn’t be able to hear him.  If Cain even cared, if this wasn’t exactly what Cain wanted anyway.

He sat in his office chair with his knees pulled up to his chest, wallowing in misery in his dark office, not caring if it was childish.  _Only sissies cry, Ethan, don’t be a baby._   Couldn’t help it, all of it slamming down on him, everything wrong with his life.

He pulled up his file of old Christmas photos on the computer, flicking past most of them, posed for his father’s donors, to the older ones, when his father had only been in local office and his mother was still allowed to take photos with her little digital camera.  When things hadn’t mattered so much, or when he hadn’t thought they’d mattered.

Found it, the one picture she’d taken before his father had taken it away, the baby doll he’d begged his mother for for months, the one that had disappeared that afternoon.  Just the one picture, him holding it on the couch next to his father before they left to fight in the other room.  

_What’s wrong with you?  He can’t have a doll, you’ll turn him queer.  Get rid of it, it’s for his own good._

Ethan put his head in his hands, hiccuping as he tried to swallow back tears and keep Cain from hearing him.

_Go to your room if you’re going to cry over a doll like a fairy._

_You don’t get to cry over it, princess.  Don’t be a little bitch about it._

He fell asleep like that, curled miserably in his office chair, head pillowed on his arm.  Cain and Misha were gone in the morning, nothing left of them except the blanket Cain had thrown over his shoulders before leaving him alone.


	5. December

**Deimos**

“You got your orders?” Sacha asked, grinning down at him as Aleks twisted the letter in his hands. “It’ll be fucking awesome, I’d ship out with you if I were old enough,” he said, and passed Aleks his cigarette. “Kill some fucking aliens for me til I get there.” Aleks took a guilty drag of it, glancing back into the house for his mother. “You still got time to mess around before you go play soldier?” Sacha asked, sly and dangerous, and Aleks had never been able to say no to cousin Sacha.

* * *

Aleks woke up with Sacha pressed against his back, cock hard, both of them breathing lazily as Sacha trailed his fingers over Aleks’ belly and side.  

“Morning, princess,” Sacha murmured, sliding his hand down Aleks’ side, freezing as his fingers met scar tissue.  “ _Shit_ ,” Sacha snapped, throwing the blanket back, throwing himself away from Aleks.  “Shit shit shit _fuck_ , what the _fuck_ happened—“

Aleks sat up, wincing and holding his head, his hangover starting to come into focus.  “Don’t remember most of it,” he lied, even though he remembered exactly enough to feel guilty about.

_Meet me at the bar after work._

_Abel doesn’t know how it is, it’s too fucking complicated._

_Fucking teal and chartreuse, you know?  Who the fuck cares?  What the fuck kind of color is chartreuse anyway?_

_Where’s your new place, Myshonok?_

_Come on._

Sacha sat on the bed, head in hands, his ring catching the light and making Aleks’ head pound worse.  His phone rang suddenly, making them both jump in the quiet bedroom.  “Fuck, Abel’s gonna fucking kill me,” Sacha breathed, holding his phone as it rang and rubbing his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Aleks said, even though he wasn’t really, but what else was there to say with the wedding three months away, with Cain and Abel so close to their happily ever after.  

Sacha looked back at him then, and Aleks hunched his shoulders against whatever was coming.  “Fuck, it’s my fault, you got nothing to be sorry for.  I got to go, Myshonok,” Sacha said finally, standing to pull his clothes on, turning his back on Aleks again.

Aleks watched him, watched him step around the scattered pieces of Aleks’ life that they’d thrown around the bare apartment last night, watched him put on the facade he wore just for Abel.  Watched him get ready to go back to everything Abel had gotten so easily and Aleks would never have.

Sacha leaned back down over him when he was dressed, Aleks pulling his knees up to his chest.  “I’m sorry,” Sacha said.

"I know," Aleks said.

Sacha threaded his fingers through Aleks’ hair and bringing his face up to kiss.  “It can’t happen again,” he said when he pulled back, and turned away.

"I know," Aleks said to his back, barely more than a whisper because his chest hurt so badly.  He put his head on his knees and listened to Sacha letting himself out, his phone ringing before he’d even shut the door.

“ _Yeah, baby, I’m fine, just had too much to drink last night, just stayed at Marcus’ place_ ,” Sacha lied. _“Yeah, I’m on my way home now.  Yeah, love you too_.”

Aleks lay back, left feeling as sore and awful and alone as every other morning after Sacha.

_I know, I know, I know._

* * *

“Deimos, goddamnit, just go over there and have dinner once, Abel doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing and Misha’s—“ Sacha cut himself off on the phone, cursing under his breath.  “Just do me a fucking favor and go translate for him, I don’t have anybody else I can ask and Abel needs it.”

Aleks took slow breaths, never able to say no to Sacha.  “Abel won’t like it,” he said instead.

“Fuck, I know, but it’ll be worse if he has to take Misha all by himself all weekend, just trust me.  Misha knows you, it’ll make things easier for Abel if there’s somebody there to keep Misha calm.”

Aleks let Sacha talk him into it, because as wrong as Aleks always knew Sacha was, he couldn’t help being talked into it every time, against his better judgement, every time.  And even though he knew in the back of his mind that it wouldn’t help anything, he told himself it would be a way of making up to Abel, of apologizing for something he knew he should feel guilty about but didn’t, that Abel didn’t know about anyway.

But Sacha had always been able to do that, and Aleks had never been able to say no to him even though he knew it only ever made things worse.

* * *

**Abel**

Ethan called, Cain’s phone going to messages every time, Cain ignoring his calls. He told himself Cain had just avoided the fight in the morning, just gotten himself to work and Misha to school, their things still at the apartment, but he couldn't keep his mind off it all day, calling obsessively when Cain wouldn't pick up. 

He still had his key to Cain’s little apartment at the halfway house where he worked, but Cain only ever stayed there anymore when he had to work late, always coming home to Ethan’s since Iowa.  Ethan thought about just showing up to Cain’s, but couldn’t face the thought of being told to leave.  Or the thought of what he would do if Cain and Misha weren’t there, at Deimos’ place instead. He tried to keep the panic down, calling over and over all day, pacing at home alone after work until Cain finally picked up, late, later than they were usually in bed.

Cain said nothing, leaving Ethan to just fumble in the silence.  “Cain?  Can I—can I see you?  Can I see Misha?”

More silence, for too long.  “Why the fuck would you want to?” Cain said finally, and Ethan flinched like Cain was standing right in front of him.  

“I—are we done?” Ethan asked.  Cut out of his parents’ lives, cut out of Cain’s life, cut out of Misha’s life.  “Are you—are we over?”

The phone was quiet.  Ethan held his breath, straining for any sound of Cain breathing or Misha in the background.  “If you never wanted a colonial kid, why’d we fuck around with Iowa in the first place, Abel?” Cain asked finally.

“I didn’t—it’s not about that.  I—I’m sorry about the book, just please come home.  Please.”

More silence, so long Ethan was sure Cain had hung up on him.  He rubbed at his eyes, frustrated with himself and with Cain.  “Misha’s in bed already, but I’ll leave the door unlocked if you want to sleep over here,” Cain said.  “We can talk about it in the morning.”

Cain wouldn’t hear any of it when he got there, pushing Ethan to bed as soon as he walked in the door.  Ethan curled against him, trying not to be too pathetically grateful when Cain threw an arm over him and pulled Ethan to lay his head on Cain’s chest.  Tried to believe it when Cain stroked his hair and whispered that he was sorry.

* * *

They didn’t talk about it in the morning, not right away, not until Misha was downstairs for school, with the colonials, where he belonged.  Misha caught all of it, though, every tense silence as Cain fried eggs for all three of them, Ethan stirring his coffee anxiously, neither of them looking at each other, both of them glancing at Misha too often.

But then Misha was gone, Cain giving him a quick kiss on the top of the head, and it was only them again.  Cain eased himself down to sit across the table, hands on the table so that Ethan had to either look him in the eye or look at his ring.

“Why’d you fucking do it, Abel?” Cain said finally, breaking the silence.  “You’re so fucking jealous of Deimos you can’t let your kid have a goddamn book?”

Ethan flushed, drawing circles on the table with the spilled coffee.  Jealous of Deimos’ closeness with Misha, his closeness with Cain, that the three of them had something he’d never be able to share.  “I just—yes,” he said finally, ashamed of himself.  "I'm sorry."

“Did you throw it out because you knew we were kids together, or just because you’re a jealous little shit?  Did you throw it out because it was the only fucking thing either of us had from when we were kids?” Cain demanded.

"I said I was sorry, what else do you want?  I tried getting it back, but it's gone, I'm sor—"

"You can be as sorry as you fucking want, it's not going to fix anything if you're going to be as much of an asshole to Misha as your dad was to you."

Ethan flushed hot.  He ground his jaw, not about to sit there taking a scolding when he wasn’t the only one in the wrong.  He tried to keep his breathing even as he finally looked Cain in the eye, wondering how long they would do this, or if this was the last time.  “How long have you been lying to me?”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Did you ever stop sleeping with Deimos?  Or did you just lie to me about all of it?”

Cain curled his hand on the table and Ethan flinched, waiting for Cain to slam his hand on the table even though it never came.  “Goddamnit Abel, I haven’t fucked him since then.  Once in the service and once right before Iowa, and that’s all, are you gonna make me pay for fucking up for the rest of my goddamn life?  I’d crawl on my goddamn belly every fucking day if I thought you’d believe it, but we both know you don’t fucking trust me.”

Another breath, two, steadying himself, watching Cain do the same.  “Why should I trust you when you keep his number in your phone under a different name?”

Cain opened his mouth.  Stopped, rubbing his hand over his face and looking up at the ceiling, like he could find an answer there.  “Because—fuck.  You were so fucking suspicious and I needed somebody to talk to.  Because I don’t have any other fucking friends,” Cain added quietly.  Sighed.  “You happy?”

“What about Marcus and Gregor—“

“Marcus is an asshole and Gregor just bitches about school.  Deimos and me were kids together, it’s different, my aunt took him in when his parents got killed.  You don’t know what it’s like in the colonies.  I don’t tell you you can’t see those bitches Katrina and Stacey.”

“I never slept with either of them.”

Cain put his head in his hands, raking his fingers through his hair.  “Yes, fuck, I _know_ , Abel, you’re a fucking saint and I don’t fucking deserve you, that what you want to hear?  Your father’s right, you should have fucking gotten rid of me before we had a kid together.”

Ethan bit his lip, never thought that Cain thought Misha’s was theirs together until he heard him say it.  He put a hand out on the table, palm up, waiting for Cain.  “My father’s never been right about anything.  I’m sorry.  About everything.”

“Fuck,” Cain said, clenching his hands in his hair.  Put his hands down on the table without touching Ethan, looking him in the eye.  “I won’t see Deimos again.  I promise.  I fucking swear.  Do you trust me?”

Ethan chewed his lip, not sure what to say.  “No,” he said, trying for honesty if Cain was.  “But I’ll try.”

Cain rubbed his face, scowling, grinding his jaw, and Ethan wondered if he should have just lied.  “Good enough,” Cain said finally, putting his hand in Ethan’s and stroking the inside of his wrist.  Pushed himself up and caught Ethan by the waist when he started to get up to get ready for work, both of them leaning against each other.


	6. December

**Cain**

Sacha bent over backwards trying to make Abel happy after that, even if he knew Abel would never fucking forgive him or trust him, and Sacha knew exactly why Abel wouldn’t trust him.  Couldn’t blame him, even, Sacha wouldn’t have given Abel a second chance, never fucking mind a third or fourth chance.

So he was late getting home from work, later than usual with swinging out to do his Christmas shopping without Abel or Misha trailing after.  

_It’s his first Christmas with us, it has to be special._

As if Abel hadn’t done all that himself already with paying for Natasha’s ticket to come spend the holiday and her rent for the month, with spending too much fucking money on tinsel and garland and so many goddamn toys for Misha that Sacha had no fucking clue what to even try to get Misha.  

So he got Misha an orange and a pair of socks, all he’d ever gotten as a kid and it’d always been good enough then.  Got a blue pair with sparkly snowflakes in the pattern, though, because he’d always fucking hated those goddamn boring black socks babushka bought every year so it wouldn’t show when they were dirty and there was no money for laundry soap.  

Figured Misha wouldn’t even notice anyway with all the other crap Abel had bought, trying to make up for throwing out the book, like he thought he could buy his way into a second chance.  Which Sacha wanted to give him after all, if he was being honest with himself, he’d always give Abel a second and third and fourth chance.  

He fingered his phone while he was out shopping, thinking about calling Deimos, even to just fucking apologize for letting Abel finally really get between them this time.  Wanted to take Deimos out for a beer and bitch about how much fucking money Abel was wasting when the best Christmas they’d had as kids had been when nobody got screaming drunk and there weren’t any funerals to go to, just babushka dragging the three of them to endless fucking services for Theophany and Nativity, Aleks and Sacha bored out of their fucking heads and grab assing in the back of the congregation while Tasha gave them dirty looks.

He left it alone though, couldn’t tell how many more chances Abel would give him and guilty as soon as he walked in the front door.  Abel and Natasha and Misha looked up at him from the dining table covered in cookies, Tasha trying to make conversation with Abel looking distracted, on his feet before Sacha even got the door closed, with a look that said he’d wanted to call but had been trying his best.

“The fuck is all this?” Sacha asked, giving Abel a kiss on the cheek and going to scoop Misha out of his chair.  Tried to give Abel a smile like he didn’t know exactly what Abel had been sitting there fretting over, exactly what Sacha had been thinking about doing.

Misha slithered out of his arms, boneless as an eel when he wanted to be even though he had a bony little ass made of razorblades anytime he wanted to sit on Sacha’s lap to cuddle.  He tugged Sacha over to one side of the table, to show him sloppy gingerbread men lined up neatly, Misha’s decorating and Abel’s overbearing precise neatness when he was upset about something.

“Misha and Nana and Abel and Daddy and Tasha and Uncle,” Misha said, counting them off, and Sacha winced, knowing Misha meant Deimos.  He glanced at Abel, looking for his little frown when he was thinking too hard.

Abel just eased himself back down to sit, lips pursed and delicately sprinkling colored sugar over a cookie so he could pretend he wasn’t avoiding Sacha’s look.  Sacha sighed to himself and let Misha and Tasha talk his ear off while he went to get leftovers for his dinner, putting off the fight with Abel until later.

Misha was a good distraction for all of them, though, chatting away in English most of the time and Russian when he couldn’t remember the words, narrating all the colors of frosting he mixed, purple bells and green stars with blue sparkles, and Tasha kissed Abel’s cheek when Sacha asked whose bright idea it had been to let Misha loose with the food coloring earlier.

“Time for dessert,” Misha declared when Sacha came back from putting his dinner dishes in the kitchen.  “Cookie for Tasha, cookie for Misha,” he said, giving Tasha a purple star to match the green star he picked out for himself.  “Cookie for Abel, and cookie for Daddy.”  Misha pushed a little yellow heart over to Abel, then picked out another heart and slathered blue frosting on it.

Sacha frowned down at it, glaring at Abel when he laughed.  “You want some cookie on that frosting?” Abel asked, laughing behind his hand.

“Daddy need more,” Misha said, reaching over and swiping his nose with frosting.

Sacha stared at it, a glob of blue icing on the end of his nose, until Abel reached over and swiped him on the cheek with another smear.

“You little shits, you gonna gang up on me together?” Sacha laughed, trying to swipe at Abel with a finger full of green frosting and missing because the little shit leaned back too far laughing.  So Sacha ended up with his finger covered in frosting, Abel laughing and Tasha rolling her eyes as Sacha sucked it off.  Misha reached for another cookie while he thought no one was watching, all shy looks like Abel when anyone was watching but just as much of a terror as Sacha had been when he thought he could get away with it.  “Time for bed for you, little monster, finish eating your cookie,” Sacha said, ruffling Misha’s shaggy hair.  

Misha laughed with his mouth full of cookie.  “Тетя Таша, читал мне сказку?”  Sacha ignored Abel’s little frown.  Abel would either have to learn or get the fuck over it, or they’d end up with a load of silent resentment from Misha instead of this slow warm up with Misha finally starting to let Abel near him.

“Конечно, возлюбленный,” Tasha said, smiling indulgently.  She should have been the one to have kids, always better at the coddling and the bossing without sounding like she was bossing. “пришел чистить зубы в первую очередь.  Прощаться к отцу и папа,” she said.  

Misha finished his cookie, sliding off his chair to drag Sacha down by the neck for a hug.  “Спокойной ночи, плохой Миша, маленького уродца,” Sacha said, kissing the top of Misha’s head.  Misha gave Abel a quick squeeze right after, both of them still wary of each other, Abel standing frowning at his back as Misha ran down the hallway to brush his teeth.

Sacha stood, needing to distract Abel the only way he knew how.  “Somebody’s getting a spanking tonight,” he said, coming to stand behind Abel, grazing teeth over his ear.  Hooked his fingers through Abel’s belt loops to pull Abel’s skinny ass back into him, worth all this fucking heartache with Misha and Deimos just to see Abel happy.  “Gonna make you lick all this off and then some.”

Abel didn’t relax back into him, though, didn’t flush and angle his neck to be bitten.  “Where were you tonight?” he asked instead.

Sacha’s hands tightened on Abel’s waist before he could stop himself, still couldn’t handle Abel being so fucking suspicious even though he knew he deserved it, even though he knew he’d have been a thousand times worse if he’d caught Abel fucking around behind his back.  “Christmas shopping.  You want to check my phone?”

Abel took slow breaths, thinking too hard.  Sacha started to take his phone out, but Abel turned, catching Sacha’s wrist as he fumbled for it in his pocket.  “No.  It’s fine.  Just—help me put everything away?” Abel said, tilting his face up.

Sacha’s breath caught with Abel so close and still so fucking needy after all this time

“ложишься спать, глупые мальчики!” Tasha yelled from the hallway then, laughing at them.  It was Sacha’s turn to flush then, caught kissing for the first time since he was sixteen, and in his own fucking house.  “Я буду убирать, у вас есть что-то более важное, не так ли?”

“What’s she saying?  What about bed?” Abel demanded.  “Who’s stupid?”

“Fuck, nothing,” Sacha said, glaring at Tasha but pushing Abel to the bedroom, not about to waste a night of free babysitting.  “Since when do you fucking understand Russian anyway?”

“I signed up for a class online,” Abel said, blushing as he stumbled in front of Sacha.

“Не за что, братишка,” Tasha said, rolling her eyes as she closed Misha’s door.

“Holy shit.  Come on, принцесса,” Sacha breathed, shoving Abel at the bed and shutting the door behind him.  Abel sprawled back on the bed, flushed and bashful and half hard already from being shoved around.  “Я научу вас все, что вам нужно, посмотреть, что еще ваши прекрасные рот может сделать помимо высосать жезл так хорошо,” Sacha said, climbing up the bed after him, more fucking turned on by the thought of making Abel work to figure out every dirty thing Sacha growled in his ear than he’d ever thought.  Even more turned on by the thought of making Abel learn to repeat it back to him.

* * *

“Sacha—oh.  Is Ethan home?  I—hmm.  I should have called first, I’m sorry,” Abel’s mother said, shifting a grocery bag of wrapped presents in one hand and a suitcase in the other.  Make up perfect, every strand of hair in place, even had her pearls on, but she’d been crying, had Abel’s look when he dried his eyes and tried to put on a brave face, tight around the eyes and lips pressed thin.

“You wanna come in, Vicky?  Ethan’s out Christmas shopping, he’ll be back pretty soon,” Cain said, standing aside and holding out a hand for her suitcase.  Must’ve finally decided to leave the bastard, perfect fucking timing with the holiday and Natasha in town, they’d have a crowded house just like the good old days.  “How long you staying?” he asked.

“I—oh, hello Natasha,” Vicky said, shifting uncomfortably on the step again, not handing him the suitcase.  Natasha and Misha looked up from their crayons at the table, Misha sliding out of his chair like a little eel to tug Vicky’s sleeve for a hug.  She smiled down at him, finally letting Sacha take her things so she could crouch and pull Misha against her, still in her thick coat.  “You don’t mind, Sacha?”

“Nah, ‘course not.  Ethan’s gonna be home in bout an hour, you want coffee or anything?”

“Tea, please,” she said, shrugging out of her jacket.  Misha dragged it over to the closet for her, pushing it in even though he was too short to reach the hangers, too much of a helper for his own good.

“Misha, come make tea for Nana and we’ll get the hot chocolate out,” Sacha yelled over his shoulder, Natasha pulling a chair out next to her for Vicky.  They settled next to each other, squeezing hands and talking quietly over something new to give Sacha headaches over, now that they were done ruining his life with wedding planning and chartreuse cocktail napkins and coordinating monograms and flavors of buttercream.  

He followed Misha back to the table with Vicky’s tea, one step behind him in case Misha spilled hot water all over his hands but not able to talk Misha out of getting Nana’s tea for her.  Sacha set down Misha’s hot chocolate for him, running back to the kitchen for more marshmallows when Natasha gave him a look, and then escaped out to the balcony before Vicky and Natasha could come up with any other tricks for him to do.

He made it almost through the whole smoke before Vicky came and tapped on the glass, poking her head out, worse than Abel with interrupting him while he was smoking.  “Sacha, could I have a word?  About Misha, and Ethan,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to where Misha kicked his little Christmas socks, spooning the marshmallows out of his hot chocolate.

Sacha let himself be pulled into the kitchen, Vicky shorter than Abel but a force of nature, would have made a good drill sergeant with her soft fingers on his elbow propelling him along, made him feel like he should have been standing at attention when she smiled up at him in the kitchen.

“I was just thinking about getting Misha something, but I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it,” she said, fidgeting like Abel did, trying to fuss wrinkles straight that weren’t there.

Sacha shrugged, leaning back on the counter.  “Get him whatever the fuck you want, Vicky, I don’t care.  He’s your grandkid too.  Just probably check with Ethan first that he didn’t already get it, he’s probably cleared out a couple toy stores by now.”

Vicky looked straight through him then, would have made him startle back if he wasn’t already leaning on the counter.  “I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t have gotten this yet.  I was going to get Misha a baby doll.”

Sacha shrugged.  “He might have picked that up already, but sure, Misha’d probably go for that.”

“You don’t care?” Vicky demanded.

“Should I?  It’s not gonna be one of the gross ones that shits itself, is it?”

Vicky choked back a short laugh, guiltily hiding it behind her hand before she recovered her serious face.  “No, just a regular one.  You don’t mind, really?”

“No, fuck, Vicky, what the fuck is all this about?  Get him whatever the fuck you want, just don’t be surprised if Misha’s too overwhelmed with everything else, Ab—Ethan’s pulled out all the stops.”

Vicky looked him up and down, trying to see if he was bullshitting.  “Ethan never told you, did he?”

“No?” Sacha said, trying not to snap, but fucking sick of all this dancing around.

Vicky pursed her lips.  “I got Ethan a baby doll one year for Christmas.  I think you can imagine how his father took it.”

Sacha stared at her, putting it together.  The look on Abel’s face when he’d found Sacha painting Misha’s nails, fucking horrified like Sacha had let Misha take shots of vodka instead.  And both of them losing their shit over that goddamn book, Sacha too pissed off and wrapped up in his own bullshit to care about why Abel had gone to cry himself to sleep in his office.  “ _Shit_.”

“Something like that, yes.  So do you mind?”

Sacha rubbed his face.  “No, but—shit.  Vicky, you mind if I go pick out a doll?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t ask why, feeling shitty enough about it as it was.  Easier that way anyway, to make sure Misha got a little dark-haired doll that looked like him.

She gave him a radiant smile then, like when he’d helped Abel bring her home from the hospital, like he was the best fucking thing she’d ever set eyes on, and Sacha just wanted to sink into the floor with what a fucking liar it made him, just the guy that fucked her son and managed to do a fucking awful job of doing even that right.  She pulled him into a hug and didn’t let go until Abel rescued him by walking in the door.

Sacha stood outside the office later when Vicky pulled Abel aside to talk, feeling like an asshole for eavesdropping but not sure Abel would tell him what was up if he got too upset about it.  So he stood there leaning back against the wall, wishing he hadn’t fucked up Abel’s life so badly.

“I was tired of him making me choose between the two of you, so I told him I was done trying to choose.  The divorce papers should go through after the holiday.”

“Oh my god, mom, I’m so sorry—“

“Don’t be sorry, sweetie, it’s not your fault.  I always thought this would happen eventually, I’d just hoped he would get over his stubbornness before it happened.  I’m only sorry it took me so long, I should have done it sooner so you wouldn’t have to go through all of that.  You’ll always be my baby, no matter what.”

Sacha couldn’t even manage to eavesdrop without fucking it up, Abel opening the door to find him standing there feeling shitty, grabbing him for a hug before he could protest, but it wasn’t so bad when Misha tugged on Abel’s sleeve and asked for a hug too.


	7. Christmas Eve

**Deimos**

Aleks would manage through the holidays on his own, like he always had, on his own after Tasha and Sacha were kicked out of their grandmother’s, on his own after his second set of parents were killed in the firebombing, on his own ever since Fleet got him a job at the VA.  He decided to keep the Nativity Fast for the first time in years after the scene at Abel’s, fasting from dairy and meat, eggs and alcohol, anger and greed and covetousness.  _Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's husband._ Or thy cousin.Wouldn’t pick up Sacha’s calls even though he rang over and over, Aleks trying to let go of him and his guilt and his anger over Abel.  

Aleks even tried to go to service for the Feast of the Holy Theotokos, but left halfway through when it reminded him too much of things before, when he’d been happy to have an orange to himself and enough to eat for once, instead of this guilty emptiness when he had more than he could have ever hoped for before leaving the colonies.  Babushka would have been disappointed, but she’d always been disappointed with him anyway, the small one, the sick one, the one taking precious money and food that should have been for her real grandchildren.  He tried not to think about that every time Sacha’s number came up on his phone, keeping hold of his fast.

He couldn’t manage, though, never strong enough to take holy orders like babushka had always wanted for him, her last disappointment in him when he joined Fleet to follow Sacha instead of entering the novitiate.  He broke his fast, picking up the phone when Sacha called two days before the Nativity, too weak to ever say no to Sacha. “Hello?”

“Deimos, this is Abel—“ 

Aleks’ heart skipped a beat, wondering if Sacha had finally gotten caught and Abel was through with him, or if Abel had been calling all that time because something had happened to Sacha and Misha.  “Why are you on Cain’s phone?  Did something happen?”

“I—no.” Abel took a breath.  “No, he’s fine.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t think you’d pick up if it was my number.  I—um.  Do you want to come over for Christmas dinner tomorrow?  Natasha is staying with us and Misha wants to see you.”

Natasha, when was the last time he’d seen her?  At the end of basic, probably, when she’d taken that picture of them together and pestered them to smile when she’d dragged out her battered old camera.  Aleks chewed his lip, wondering if Abel was cruel enough to mock him with this, offering and then taking it back, mocking Aleks with everything Abel had and Aleks had always wanted.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Probably not, but do you want to come over anyway?" Abel said.  "Natasha said she misses you.”

“Does—does Cain know?”

Abel was quiet on the other end of the phone, and Aleks cursed himself for asking, but better to have Abel change his mind now, before Aleks got his hopes up again.  “Not yet.  Was it really only once?”

“Once before the wedding and once in the military,” Aleks said, hoping Sacha had been honest with Abel about it, that he didn’t expect Aleks to lie for him now.  Hoped it was what Abel wanted to hear, hoped it was the right answer to get to see Misha again.

“I’m sorry I called you a—I’m sorry I said what I did,” Abel said after a while.  “Dinner’s going to be at seven, but my mother’s making drinks at five.  Misha’s been asking about you.”

“I’ll think about it.  Merry Christmas, Abel,” Aleks said, but there was only silence, and he wasn’t sure if Abel had heard it before he hung up.

* * *

**Abel**

Dinner went better than it could have, and Ethan tried to hold back his jealousy at Cain’s barely concealed pleasure when he opened the door to find Deimos standing there with a bottle of wine just before dinner.  Took a breath and ignored it when Misha ran to Deimos for a hug, because Misha came back to Ethan right after, climbing on the couch between him and Natasha, barely managing to avoid spilling their drinks.

But it didn’t go as badly as it could have, certainly not as badly as it had gone when it had been only Ethan and Deimos and Misha, Deimos keeping his distance from everyone but Natasha and Ethan did his best to not over react to every glance Cain gave him.  

It went fine until after dinner, Deimos almost ready to leave and just finishing his beer.  They let Misha stay up later than usual, bouncing with the excitement of Christmas and company and Deimos’ gift of another copy of the book.  Ethan and Cain traded glances and said nothing about it, put it off for another time, Ethan torn between being grateful to Deimos and jealous that he’d managed to find a copy when Ethan hadn’t been able to.  But he pushed that aside and tried to not to be petty about it, focusing instead on the fact that Misha wanted to read it to him before anyone else, Misha demanding to hear Ethan mispronounce every other word and clapping when he got it right.

It was all going so well until his mother asked an innocent question, something that never would have been an issue if she hadn’t been staying with them or if they’d never adopted.  “Sweetie, what time do you want to leave for service tomorrow?” his mother asked, and Ethan caught his breath, glancing up from where Misha balanced the book on the dining table in front of them.

Cain glared from the couch where he sat with Deimos, both of them sitting with their beers and Natasha carefully between them, not quite looking at each other and letting Natasha fuss over how skinny Deimos had gotten.  “What fucking service?” Cain demanded.

Ethan fidgeted, should have said something earlier, but everything had been going so well.  Should have just talked about it earlier, but wasn’t that how they did everything, putting off all the hard things until they had to talk about it.  “We were going to take Misha to Christmas service, Natasha’s coming.  You can come if you want.”

Cain glared at all of them, at Ethan’s mother, at Natasha and finally at Ethan.  “You’re not taking my kid to church.”

“He’s my kid too, Cain,” Ethan said quietly.  “It’s just Christmas service, it’s only an hour.”

“Religion is the opiate of the masses, you’re not fucking taking him.”

Natasha laughed, rolling her eyes at Cain as Ethan gave him a confused look.  “Since when have you read Marx?” Ethan asked.

“Since when have you gone to church?” Cain said, and Ethan could hear what he wasn’t saying.  _You’re a fag, they’re not going to give you a baby_ _._

Ethan flushed.  “The pastor’s a lesbian and it’s just for Christmas service, it’s not like we’re going every week.  You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but Misha’s coming.”

“I’ll come,” Deimos said quietly, and Cain and Ethan both drew sharp breaths.  “If you want,” Deimos added, looking at Ethan.  “What time is confession?”

“Our church doesn’t do confession, we’re not Catholic,” Ethan’s mother cut in.  “There’s a Catholic church right across the street, though, but I don’t know what time they do confessions.”

“He’s not Catholic,” Cain snapped, glaring at Deimos, and Ethan held his breath, not sure how to get out of the mess he’d gotten all of them into.  Hoped Cain would solve it all by forbidding it again so Ethan wouldn’t have to work out how to refuse to go to church with Deimos.  “Tы хочешь делаться бабушке гордится, Послушник?” Cain demanded of Deimos, who just shrugged.  “Fuck,” Cain said finally.  “Fine, we’re all going, then,” he said, and Ethan wasn’t sure if it could have gone worse if they’d all tried.


	8. Chapter 8

**Abel**

“Daddy!”  Misha bounced into bed before either of them was fully awake, landing in the middle of the down comforter all sharp elbows and giggles, Cain groaning as he was pushed out from the middle of the bed.

“Misha, go back to bed, it’s still dark out,” Cain said, swatting at him as Misha started to climb under the blankets with them.  “Santa’s still hungover.”

“Nana says time for you to get up.  Nana says daddy’s lazy,” Misha said, and now that Ethan was more awake, he could smell the coffee and french toast coming from the kitchen, Natasha and his mother talking quietly.

Cain groaned.  “Daddy says Nana can go to mmph—“  Ethan cut him off with a pillow over his head, Cain laughing through it until Misha pulled it up enough to peek.

Ethan sighed, exhausted from laying awake wondering how badly Christmas morning and church would go, Cain crabby when they went to bed and Ethan too nervous to try to distract either of them with sex.  But Misha cuddled against him, and Ethan rolled to put an arm over Misha as Cain reached to thread his fingers through Ethan’s.

“Daddy?” Misha asked, putting his cheek against Ethan’s chest.

“Hmmm?” Cain asked sleepily.

Misha laughed.  “Other daddy.  Abbie-daddy,” he said, and Ethan tugged him closer, wanting to hold on to this as long as he could.  “No squishing!” Misha protested, pushing his hands away but snuggling against him again.  “Abbie, who all the Christmas for?”

“You, baby,” Ethan said, smoothing Misha’s wild hair away from his face.  

“No, one Christmas for ever’body,” Misha mumbled.  Ethan caught Cain’s eye, hoping against hope Misha would fall asleep again and they could catch a few more minutes.  “Does Daddy and Uncle and Tasha and Nana get Christmas?”

It was Cain’s turn to catch Ethan’s eye, smirking over something.  Cain squeezed Ethan’s hand over Misha’s skinny side, glancing down at him.  Misha was asleep again, breathing slowly against Ethan’s chest.  Ethan didn’t fall back asleep even though Cain did, holding on to both of them and hoping the rest of the day would go as well as this had, and knowing it wouldn’t.

* * *

He almost made it through presents without crying.

Misha didn’t believe them at first, demanding to see Cain, Ethan, his mother and Natasha open their presents first, anxious about taking away someone else’s Christmas until Cain and Natasha explained that things were different from the colonies.  Misha was still anxious, climbing into Ethan’s lap and making Cain sound out every label before Misha would open anything, trying to share the orange Cain had gotten for him even though there was a whole bowl of oranges in the kitchen.

Ethan’s mother took photos obsessively, like she had before, when he was younger, before it had all mattered so much what everyone else thought, and Cain even managed to stop scowling for most of it, mellowed out with the boozy eggnog Ethan’s mother kept refilling for him.  They all froze for a minute when Ethan’s mother’s phone rang, and then Ethan’s, all of them ignoring it even though they all knew exactly who was calling.

But then there was only one gift left, from Cain to Misha, all of them surrounded by drifts of torn giftwrap with half glasses of eggnog and mimosas scattered over the coffee table.  Misha tore the paper off delicately, trying not to rip it, Natasha whispering to him that he didn’t have to worry about saving it for later, things were different here, but he set it neatly aside anyway, and Ethan was so distracted by it that he almost didn’t realize at first what exactly Cain had gotten Misha.

It was perfect and beautiful, a little portrait of what Misha must have looked like as a baby, big dark curls painted on and rosy cheeks.  Ethan shuffled Misha off his lap, avoiding Cain’s scowl as Misha started to pull doll clothes out of the box.

 Ethan stumbled to the kitchen, excusing himself before he could give Cain anything else to use against him. 

_Go to your room if you’re going to cry over a doll like a fairy._

He pulled down hot chocolate mix before he knew what he was doing, just for something to do with his hands, panicking with the sound of Cain getting up to follow him into the kitchen.  The only thing Ethan wanted was to hide from him and put off whatever horrible thing Cain was going to say until later, when whatever Cain was going to humiliate him with could just be private and not torn open raw in front of his mother and Misha.

Cain came to stand behind him in the kitchen, not saying anything, silent and waiting for Ethan to show his weaknesses first like always.

“Did you know?  Did you go through my photos?” Ethan asked, trying to keep his voice calm even though his throat was raw.  Stirred the hot chocolate with shaky hands so he wouldn’t have to look Cain in the eye and see Cain sneering at him.  

_You’re a fag, no one’s going to give you a baby_ _._

He couldn’t bear the thought of Cain using Misha against him like this, everything between them still about Cain proving he was in control after everything.  Ethan closed his eyes, just for a second, wondering how Cain would hurt him with this, if Cain would actually take the doll away from Misha to punish Ethan for making demands about Deimos, or only threaten it, or if Cain would just use this to rub his face in the fact that he was a better father than Ethan would ever be.

“Your mom told me,” Cain said quietly, nothing cutting or scornful in his voice.

Ethan glanced up at him.  Cain was watching Misha busily redress the baby doll in a tutu, cape and fireman’s helmet, Natasha and Ethan’s mother on either side of him.  

“Tasha had a bear she gave me and Deimos when we were kids, babushka took it away from Deimos when he was ten or so,” Cain said, sounding distant.  “Always thought babushka and your dad would get along.”  Ethan took a shaky breath, Cain coming to slip his hand in Ethan’s back pocket.  “You ok?” Cain asked, brushing his lips across the back of Ethan’s neck.

Ethan didn’t realize he’d started to cry until one fat tear landed on the counter next to the cup of hot chocolate, and Cain didn’t say anything else until Ethan dried his face and tried to give him a smile.

* * *

The service was awkward, all of it so awkward with Deimos, Ethan too embarrassed to tell his mother to stop making small talk with him, too embarrassed to tell her that he’d only invited Cain’s cousin to dinner last night to make things better with Cain, too embarrassed for them all to tell her that Cain had cheated on him with his _cousin_.  So he stood there trying to concentrate on keeping Misha occupied while his mother made small talk with Deimos and Natasha about orthodox services before the service.  Cain squeezed his hand as the service began, though, holding hands behind Misha’s back and giving Ethan a half smile over Misha’s head.  

At least during the service he could concentrate on trying not to laugh at Misha’s garbled lyrics, coming out of his shyness to belt Christmas songs in half-mangled English at the top of his lungs, Cain losing his sourness to keep up with Misha’s volume.  

Even if Ethan wanted to scream at his mother’s well-meaning friends who came up to her after the service to tell her how kind she was to bring a less fortunate, _colonial_ family to church with her, asking if she’d met them through her charity work, all of them telling Natasha how beautiful her son was.  Ethan stood to one side holding Misha’s hand, feeling invisible and out of place, regretting letting Misha bring his doll to church with them even if the pastor and her wife and daughters were there.

Cain slipped away during the small talk, abandoning Deimos, Natasha, Ethan and his mother to awkwardly explain how they knew each other and who Misha belonged to.  Not that Ethan was much better, taking Misha to the bathroom before they left as an excuse to escape the awkwardness.  

They were just coming back from the bathrooms, Misha’s damp hand in Ethan’s, when he caught Cain’s voice in the hallway, low and angry and unintelligible.  Ethan rounded the corner slowly, not sure he wanted to know.

He recognized his father’s voice before he came around the corner, but it was too late to back out by the time he realized it.  “I have more right to be here than you do.  Now get out of my way before—Ethan.”  His father and Cain looked at them then, Ethan and Misha looking mismatched and out of place together, and Ethan couldn’t find anything to say.  “Who let him have a doll?” his father demanded, glaring at Misha’s doll in its cape and tutu, not moving out of their way.

“The fuck d’you care?” Cain snapped before Ethan could say anything, Misha shying away and hiding behind Ethan.  “He’s not your kid.  He’s not your grandkid.”

Ethan’s father looked him up and down, then at Misha’s doll and back at Cain.  “You’ll make him a queer,” his father said, as if that was the worst thing he could think of, and Ethan wished he had someone to hide behind too.

Cain balled his fists, ready for a fight, and Ethan’s heart pounded faster, trying to figure out how to get them all out of there, but Cain pressed on before he could say anything.  “So?  He can be a fag if he wants or he can fuck girls if he wants, the fuck do I care,” Cain snarled.

Ethan went to tug on Cain’s elbow, trying to get him out of there before there was any more of a scene.  “Cain, come on—“ 

“And he’s seven,” Cain spat at Ethan’s father, ignoring Ethan.  “You shouldn’t be thinking about him fucking anyone anyway.”

“How dare you—“

“Yeah?  I fucking dare when some asshole says he cares about who my kid fucks.  I fucking dare when some asshole tells me what I can and can’t do with my kid and my fucking family.”

“Ethan is my family, not yours.”

“Not anymore.  You want to have a grandkid, you better fucking earn it first because you been a shitty dad so far.  My and Ethan’s kid can have whatever fucking doll he wants, so you can go fuck yourself if you don’t fucking like it.”

Ethan and his father stared at Cain, horrified, all of it ripped out and open and raw, and as if it couldn’t get any worse, his mother rounded the corner with Deimos and Natasha rounded the corner then, looking for them.  “Ethan, are you and Misha ready—Richard,” his mother said, coming short.  Deimos glanced from Ethan to Cain to Ethan’s father, fingering his sleeve as if he was looking for something, only stopping when Natasha put a hand on his arm.  “What are you doing here?” Ethan’s mother asked, the hum of the church going quiet behind them as the congregation emptied out.

His father looked between the two of them, Ethan and his mother, his look going softer, and he looked younger, like when he’d only been in local office and everything hadn’t mattered so much.  “Renee told me you’d be here.  I wanted to apologize.  You and Ethan can still come home for Christmas,” he said, and Ethan didn’t know why it still hurt so badly when he knew exactly what to expect from his father, Misha and Cain and Ethan’s whole life cut away.

“You’ll have to apologize to Ethan first,” his mother said, coming to stand with Misha and Ethan.  “I’m tired of this, Richard, I’m tired of elections always coming before our family.  It was different when it was only your time and your attention we didn’t get, but if you want the next election so much more than you want the grandchild you always talked about, I don’t think I want to even try to understand you anymore.”

And then there it was, the moment stretching out thin between them all, Cain and Deimos and Natasha, the family Ethan would never fit into, and his father and mother, the family he never had fit into, and Misha pulling away from him to leave Ethan alone caught between them all.

Misha went to tug on his father’s sleeve.  “You can share my Christmas,” Misha said, holding up his doll, and Ethan held his breath until his father crouched and folded Misha into a hug.

“Do you want to come home for dinner?” his father asked, looking from Ethan to his mother and back to Misha, looking him over with a soft look Ethan had never gotten from his father.

“I'll call you tomorrow, Richard, it’s been a long day,” his mother answered before Ethan could say anything.  She shepherded Misha and the rest of them gently away, Misha waving goodbye to Ethan’s father as Cain carried him away.

* * *

They didn’t talk about it after they were home, Deimos saying his goodbyes quietly even though Natasha begged him to stay.  Ethan collapsed on the couch, grateful that nothing had gone as badly as it could have.  He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until Cain nudged him over, settling with a whiskey sour and moving to pillow Ethan’s head on his lap.  Misha and his doll sat with his new building set on the floor, Natasha and Ethan’s mother talking quietly in the kitchen.

Cain leaned back on the sofa with his drink, watching Misha with half a smile and rubbing small circles on Ethan’s thigh with his thumb.

“Abel,” Cain demanded when Ethan started to drift off again, to the sound of Misha talking to his doll in Russian.  Ethan looked up at Cain, caught off guard with his closeness and the intimacy of it.  “I love you so fucking much, you don’t even know,” Cain said.

“Are you drunk already?”

“Only a little.  Look at me.  You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, you and Misha.”

Ethan looked up at him, didn’t know what to say to that, after everything.  “Oh.”

“Merry Christmas, princess,” Cain said, and Ethan didn’t have to think of anything with Cain’s mouth covering his, warm and sharp with the whiskey, familiar and safe and everything Ethan had ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This borrows Cain n Abel being daddy and abby from ReadsToRobots/clickybored's wonderful [Through the Night](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8759998/1/Through-the-Night). Happy holidays everyone. <3 <3 <3


End file.
